


An Ode to Patroclus

by SLq



Category: The Iliad - Homer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLq/pseuds/SLq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles walks the underworld in search of Patroclus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ode to Patroclus

**Author's Note:**

> Repost

Darkness was the path he followed.

Black ashes littered the ground beneath his strong legs; air of decay and despair choked his nostrils. Deeper and deeper his feet took him, into the heart of Earth and Cold, and for all of his renowned strength he could not will his body to turn back.

At some length of stumbling his way forward, a strip of light graced his eyes. High brows smoothing, he hurried down to the banks of what appeared to be a river. His steps grew slower as he drew nearer, amazement stalling his gait. No river such as this could have existed in the mortal world: Fire and soot matted its waters, and blood; human ash and bones guided its flow. He could see, across the river’s great width, charred skeletons dancing in the greatest agony, could hear their songs of death as they resonated through meatless throats.

A boat, long and black as the winter’s sky, stood burrowed into the river’s bank. Its master – a gangly, gruesome creature whose very breath smelled of rot – staring him up and down with a yellow-toothed leer. He shivered in disgust, yet ambled forth –a great man, shining in his beauty even in the darkness of this Underworld – for he saw no other way forward and none ever more back.

“Where am I?” he asked, voice raw and deep and painful from lack of use.

The boatman’s demented grin stretched further, shriveled hands grabbing at the other’s shoulders with cold strength.

“Where indeed, but in Hades’ Kingdom, foolish son of Thetis? Now, give me my due, so you are not left to rot and burn by Styx’s banks.”

The hero frowned. Thetis? He knew her not. Nor did he remember much of life before this eternal darkness. But the name of Hades his heart recognized – along with one more, but dearer – and understanding came to him. It was to the House of Death his feet had taken him. He opened up his great palm, and let the two golden coins he knew not he had drop into the claw-like hand the boatman had thrust underneath his nose.

“Row, then, evil creature,” he murmured, “For there is a soul I need to find, and quick.”

The boatman laughed and motioned the man aboard, not bothering to bite at the coins and affirm their true value. He knew the death-gift of a man almost immortal would be gold.

“Come, arrogant human,” he drawled, pushing the boat away from dry land the very moment the golden-haired warrior stepped onto its sturdy surface, “Let’s get you to your proper end.”

The flow was soft, in the heart of Styx. The floated gently along its dark current, the boatman unbothered by the misfortune and horror that lay scattered along its banks. Women with torn-out eyes and scratched faces bellowed curses of agony at him, bloodied hands straining to reach the meandering boat; half-crushed men still carrying arrows and wounds of war bemoaned their fate, pleading for a coin from the boat’s mortal passenger so they could be taken to their proper place in Hades’ Kingdom.

 To all of that and more, the man’s heart remained unshaken. He knew not why calm refused to leave his soul. Moreover, he found himself uncaring for the horror that went before his eyes. Indeed, there was little he knew or thought about but the desire that had driven him to hasten the rudely-laughing boatman in his leisurely rowing.

After what seemed like days – and it could have been very well so, for Time did not hold power in these realms – the boat finally thundered, smacking harshly against land. It was a deck of sorts, a pathway of gleaming black marble leading to a tremendous gate. The warrior jumped out of the boat without waiting for the boatman’s signal, ignoring the creature’s shrill laughter as he hurried down the path and to the gate. With each step, his eyes saw more sharply the horror that awaited him in front of the iron-wrought doors: A dog the size of a house, with three heads swiveling to glare dangerously from one massive, blood-gorged neck. All three jaws snapped and growled at him once the creature saw him, all six eyes glaring blood and madness into the man’s heart. Still, Fear failed to drag her nails against his soul and he stood, unshaken and proud, to face the immortal beast.

Halting in front of the monstrous Guardian of Hell, the man spoke:

“Move aside, o inglorious cur, for it is not me you want grudging against you.”

The dog howled in three voices and hurled itself forward, intending to half the arrogant man with the power of its teeth. Neither did the warrior turn to flight, but waited – powerful legs tensing as he readied to strike – for the oncoming fight.

It could have been a gory thing, this battle, had it ever happened. A strong hand caught the horrendous dog’s leash as it jumped upon the man, immortal hands staying the beast with but a few words.

“Still, Cerberus, for this is not a mere mortal you wish to feast upon.”

So spoke Hades, the King of all Damned souls, and the man fell upon his knees, for it was now that horror seized his blood. Hades towered over him in all of his terrifying glory: Skin as cold and hard as the purest marble, eyes alight with pitiless fire, dark curls falling like night against his brows. The robe that circled the immortal’s shoulders was a thing of marvel: Silver-lined and dyed in the deepest purple, woven into a thing of eternal beauty by the gray-eyed maiden, Pallas Athena. Dark-browed Hades carried no weapons at his side; he had no need for their weight. Immortal would be the only soul who could charge against him here, in the realm he mastered, and survive it.

So kneeled the warrior, one hand bracing his weight on the hard ground, and gave his respect to the God of Death.

Smiling, Hades grabbed the man by his forearms and bid him stand, addressing him with winged words:

“How, now, brave Achilles. Do not kneel before me, who has expected you from the day you were born and dreadful destiny was given you. Come inside, and let me take you to the Elysian Fields hidden in the heart of my Kingdom, where you may live the rest of eternity with the souls of slain heroes.”

So spoke the god, and led Achilles – for that was the hero’s name, which the god allowed him to remember along with his mortal glory – past the growling Cerberus and into the shadows of his realm. Achilles looked all around him, fear and awe grasping at his chest as they passed first through the smooth-walled hall where the three Judges of Justice held court, waiting for souls to condemn to ever-different levels of hell. Past these ghastly creatures did Hades lead Achilles, sparing the son of his immortal niece from suffering their judgment. Further down they walked, footsteps echoed by moans and howls of pain as all around sinners and ones hated by the gods in their life performed impossible tasks or else were ceaselessly tortured by some pest or another. Here was Sisyphus, forever forcing a tremendous boulder up a hill, just to have it slide and push him back down as he was about to reach the peak. And there, Perithous, eternally stuck to the seat Hades had bidden him take more than a hundred years ago, cried for help and forgiveness. At times, the ground itself seemed to moan and rumble, no doubt being shaken by the tremendous Titans imprisoned in Tartarus’ depths.

This and more they passed, and Achilles of the ash spear would tremble to hear great men beg like children. Yet Hades led him farther away still, until the gloom and darkness of his world seemed to swallow the pained groans that had echoed all about.

The air grew heavier the longer they walked - gained substance and color, startling in its purity after so long spent wading through a sea of darkness. A gentle mist rose from the black earth, a haze that enraptured all it touched. Achilles walked forward, as if asleep, and did not stop until there was no path left to follow. Great white gates barred his way, smooth and heavy as if a single block of stone. Achilles gazed up at them in wonder.

Once again laying heavy hands upon Achilles’ great shoulders, Hades spoke:

“Here then are you to go, o brave son of Thetis. Beyond these doors lie the Fields so many glorious warriors strive to reach over the course of the lives allotted to them. You alone are allowed passage after such a short stay upon the earthly realms, a reward for bravery as well as immortal lineage. Now, I know you desire to ask me something; I bid you speak.”

Achilles, deeply moved by the god’s favor, could not find his words. But the passion which had driven him forward was greater than the fear Hades of the black brow instills in the human heart. So he spoke:

“O great King of the Underworld. Words are not enough to thank you for the gifts you have bestowed upon me. Yet, I feel I must ask of you a favor more: Would you tell me if the soul of a young warrior, a dear companion of mine who walked under the name Patroclus while he was one of the living, resides beyond the white gates?”

Hades frowned, and his great brows came together, and his eyes sparkled with slow anger.

“Is it not enough, o pitiful human, that I have granted you the glory of the Elysian Fields? You, at least, I could permit to enter before your time due to your immortal lineage; the companion you speak of has not yet lived his three lives with glory as to be allowed entrance where only the most deserving of mortals roam," the god thundered, and awful was his anger, "Now, take you your leave, or desire you to flit around the halls of my world as a pale ghost like the man you speak of with such passion?”

Fear swayed Achilles, weakened his knees and shook his courage. Greater however was the sorrow that weighted Achilles’ heart, for thinking brave Patroclus roaming the world of dead as a mere shadow saddened him beyond measure. He answered the God of Death thusly:

“Be it that way then, dark-browed Hades. Strip away from me the favors you have granted, but allow me to walk your desolate kingdom with Patroclus at my side. For without him I am nothing, and would feel naught of the pleasures you so kindly offer.”

Silence fell thick around the two as they gazed at each other – mortal and god, yet alike in valor and beauty.

Suddenly Hades, God of all that has perished, smiled and extended his hand to Achilles.

“Very well, then, son of Thetis. Your heart is as brave and your love as true as you professed to the gods when you burned young Patroclus’ body and sacrificed ox, and sheep, and dog, and man to me in his honor. Walk beyond the white gates, and there you shall find the soul you so dearly miss; for he has been here, in wait for you, all these days.”

Heart alight with joy, Achilles thanked the god profusely and hastened to enter, eyes searching for his lost companion even as the gates opened before him. But the God of Death stayed him a moment longer, face once more dark and somber.

“You must remember, Achilles, that your beloved friend was fully mortal. I was not able to give him the gift of memory as he crossed sacred Styx. He would have likely forgotten you.”

Again dropped the heart in Achilles, grieving at the loss and gain of his friend all at once. But he nodded his great head and thanked the god once more, and then entered the Elysian Fields and let their Guardian Gates swing shut behind him.

And oh, what beauty met his eyes!

How many pastures, all green with dew-jeweled grass; how many herds of cattle, all fat and waddling in front of their herdsmen’s sticks; how many beautiful houses with wide windows and freshly-painted walls, like pictures drawn on the smoothest of paper; how many great oaks and glistering ponds filled with playful fish; how many, indeed, were the beauties of this under world!

Yet nothing did Achilles’ eyes admire for more than a second – not lush violets or doe-eyed maidens or quick-footed horses of the purest coats. For he was in a constant search of Patroclus, his soul crying with need to meet, once again, the other man.

Finally, he spotted him – there, by the edge of an eye-shaped pond, lean body stretched at ease as his fishing rod bobbed in the waters in front of him – and wind was in his legs as he sprinted to his side. When but a few steps divided them he halted, admiration and love filling his eyes with tears as he once more looked upon the loved face of the one he adored above all others.

Lithe was Patroclus’ body, sinew in muscles and covered in tunics of the softest silk. His eyes were blue, Achilles knew, and sincere, and his lips as bow-shaped as Apollo could ever claim. Soft black curls fell upon his brows as he gazed up at the body of Achilles, a cloud of confusion marring the beloved gaze.

Unable to hold himself away an instant more, Achilles dropped to his knees and enveloped the surprised man into his arms, hot tears wetting his cheeks in earnest. Softly, he petted the unruly curls, voice eager yet sad as he declared his happiness:

“Well to meet you again, Patroclus, dear friend; even better to hold you in my arms. I know you remember naught of the years we spent together in the world above – of the time of friendship and love and battle and glory we shared together. Even so, I would think you would know me, even if a little, for our ashes mingle in the same twin-eared urn of gold, buried as it is in a mound facing the stormed city of Troy.”

Patroclus said nothing, eyes just as dazed as moments prior. But he allowed the almost-god to hold him, fingers in turn tangling into the man's shortened locks. Finally, he spoke:

“I am sorry, but I do not remember you, good man. Yet, I have been awfully lonely even here, in these fields of plenty. Your presence gladdens my soul.”

Joyful was Achilles as he heard those words, and vowed forever on to live death with Patroclus at his side, never to allow them to separate again.

Thus did the gods reward their beloved mortal, and Thetis’ soul was at peace with the knowledge of her son’s eternal happiness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Achilles cuts his hair as part of his mourning rituals for Patroclus. He says the following:
> 
> “…I have laid Patroklos on the burning pyre…and cut my hair for him, since there will come no second sorrow like this on my heart again while I am still one of the living.” (pg. 451, line 45-47; The Iliad of Homer, tr. Lattimore)
> 
> Thus, I reference to Achilles’ “shortened locks” near the end of the story.
> 
> \- Patroclus comes back as a ghost to visit his dear friend once more before departing to the land of Hades, and asks of him the following:
> 
> “…do not have my bones laid apart from yours, Achilleus, but with them, just as we grew together in your house…let one vessel, the golden two-handled urn the lady your mother gave you, hold both of our ashes.” (pg. 452, line 83-on; The Iliad of Homer, tr. Lattimore)
> 
> Achilles agrees with full heart, and thus their ashes are laid together for eternal rest.
> 
> \- As to Achilles remembering Patroclus’ name:
> 
> “And though the dead forget the dead in the house of Hades, even there I shall still remember my beloved companion.” (pg. 445, line 389-390; The Iliad of Homer, tr. Lattimore)


End file.
